


when there's nothing left to burn

by likewinning



Series: little beasts [89]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: M/M, Mental Health Issues, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-11-07 21:09:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20823845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likewinning/pseuds/likewinning
Summary: No one lives forever, especially in this business. They've all been stupidly, absurdly lucky.





	when there's nothing left to burn

**Author's Note:**

> um. hi?

They don't work together that often anymore. Once Tim showed up, Bruce more or less made him and Jason partners, and Dick kind of did his own thing, bouncing from job to job and showing up to set fire to whatever Bruce wanted.

This time, though, Tim's on some solo thing, and Roy's unreliable, and _fuck_ if Jason's going to work with the new kid without punching his teeth through his spine, so -

"I missed this," Dick says, as he pours gasoline over a couple of fresh corpses. Jason doesn't really remember what they supposedly did, only that they're getting paid an awful lot of money, even for them, to do this thing.

"What, setting scumbags on fire? Isn't that just a Tuesday for you?" Jason asks.

"Not _this_," Dick says. He lights a match, licks his lips, and Jason didn't _forget_ how much this shit turns Dick on, but -

It's been a while.

"I missed _us_," Dick says. He's pouting, and it should look absurd on a twenty fucking six year old, but it's just Dickie. "You never come around anymore. Hardly even to Roy's, even."

"Yeah," Jason says. "Yeah, I know. It's just…"

"You and Harvey," Dick says, and Jason doesn't flinch because he's pouring gasoline across every surface of the place he can, careful of his shoes and clothing and _Dick_, who is known for lighting himself on fire sometimes. "Are you guys like, living together?"

"God no," Jason says. "It's not like that."

"What's it like?" Dick asks, but Jason counters, "What about you and the fucking _FBI guy_, huh?"

"Roy told you?" Dick asks. He looks genuinely worried, for a second, like he actually knows he's doing something _wrong_.

"Of course he did," Jason says.

"Who else knows?"

"Probably Tim," Jason says. "Not Bruce, considering you're still breathing."

"He wouldn't," Dick says, shrugging.

"Dickie," Jason says. They leave the building, flames building up behind them. Jason's clothes will smell like smoke for weeks, and if he goes to Harvey's tonight, he'll know exactly where he's been.

"It's not like you're messing with some local yahoo cop we can pay off with half a million and a brick of coke," Jason says. He grabs Dick by the arm, makes him look at him because this isn't - it's not _funny_ anymore, if it ever was, but Dick's laughing.

"This is the feds, Dickie. They could kill us all, and not even flinch."

"Or," Dick says. He's grinning, high on flames, gorgeous and crazy and Jason always knew why Bruce took him home, but _this_ is why he kept him, didn't kill him the first or even second time he tried to burn the house down. "Or I could get him on our side."

Jason shakes his head. They get in the car and Jason starts driving, not too fast or too slow. "What does he have on us?" he asks.

"Pictures," Dick says. He _giggles_. "A _lot_ of pictures, Jaybird. I mean he's a little obsessed."

"Jesus," Jason says. "What else?"

Dick sighs. "A lot about me and Bruce. Stuff about the circus. Stuff about you, but only up to when you were on the street. Nothing on Tim except his parents, really. Kiddo always could cover his tracks."

"Yeah," Jason says. He hasn't seen Tim in months, and he misses the crazy little fucker. "Yeah, he could."

They're quiet for a while, except for Dick humming along to the radio, and then Dick says, "I'm not stupid, you know."

And Jason does. Dick has a reputation for being a ditz, a goofball, a coked out pyro with a sick sense of humor, but he's also smart as hell, when he wants to be. As strategic as Bruce, as ruthless as Tim. He could take over someday, if.

No one lives forever, especially in this business. They've all been stupidly, absurdly lucky.

"I know, Dickie," Jason says. He isn't sure where they're meant to go, so he drives back to the manor. Tim is on the porch, doing nothing at all but standing there as far as Jason can tell.

"Fuckin family reunion," Jason mutters, as Dick leaps out of the car to pull Tim into a hug that clearly makes Tim uncomfortable.

"Hey baby," Jason says, and Tim glares at him, but then his lips twitch in what amounts to a smile for him.

"Hello Jason," Tim says, and Jason laughs at him, gets his arm around his neck and kisses his forehead, sloppy and wet.

"Animal," Tim says, but there's no bite to it.

"We should go out," Dick says. His body jitters like it does after a fire, or ten bumps of coke. "We haven't all been together in ages."

Jason hesitates, but Tim licks his lips, stares up at Jason with those dead glassy eyes and says, "Yes, we should."

*

When Jason goes to get them drinks, Tim pulls him into the men's room with the promise of a couple of lines. When they get to the stall, though, he shoves Dick back against the stall, his hand squeezing Dick's throat with strength that would be surprising to anyone who hasn't actually _met_ Tim.

"Ooh," Dick gasps. "This is a surprise."

"Shut up," Tim says. His voice is dead and flat, like always, but his eyes flash like that time he found out Roy was using again (again, again).

"We need to talk," Tim says.

"Little difficult," Dick says. He could break Tim's grip, but he's enjoying this.

Tim loosens his hold on him, but he doesn't drop him. "The cop," Tim says, and Dick probably should have known this was coming, because Tim _never_ goes out with them anymore unless there's a guaranteed body count.

"How long are you going to wait before you kill him?" Tim asks, and Dick knows he must look puzzled, because Tim _gapes_ at him.

Nothing _ever_ surprises Tim.

"I mean," Dick admits. "The thought had occurred to me at first, y'know, the first time I realized he was following me, but uh…"

Tim punches him in the jaw, and Dick tastes blood, and now he's a _little_ annoyed, because he hates when people go for his face.

"I'm not going back where I came from," Tim says. "If you don't take care of this - if you don't - I'll take you both out before Bruce knows a thing."

He pushes Dick out of the way so he can leave the stall. Dick stays to clean himself up, and do some of the coke _he_ brought, and when he gets back out Tim and Jason are out on the floor dancing like nothing happened. He watches them for a minute, shrugs, then sets fire to the nearest guy with a douchey looking haircut that he sees.

*

Dick's riding him, mouth open wide in that high pitched, hungry whine when he looks down at him and says, "You should meet them."

"What," M says. He's braindead on being balls deep, no idea what Grayson could even mean.

He showed up thirty minutes ago, spilled a baggie of coke on M's nice dining room table and asked, "You want a bump?"

"I'm a federal fucking agent, moron."

"Oh, right." Dick shrugged, helped himself, then dropped to his knees and swallowed M's cock.

"I think you'd get along," Grayson says now, and M realizes, not for the first time, that Dick Grayson is actually insane.

"What do you think this is?" M asks later, when Dick's humming contentedly as he flips through the channels on M's TV. He's always recording absolute garbage on M's DVR, gleefully watching those MTV shows that make M's brain hurt.

"What do you mean?" Dick asks.

"I mean," M says. "Get the fuck out of my house, you lunatic."

Grayson pouts, and twirls a strand of hair around his finger. "I just thought you'd get along," he says. "Especially with Jason, he's always grumpy too."

"Is he," M deadpans.

"Mmhm," Dick says. "He used to be way more fun, little firecracker fuck machine. Now…" Dick trails off, and M says, "I'm going to arrest you all."

"Sure you are," Dick says. "By the way, you're out of cereal."

M thinks about shooting him in the heart, planting a bunch of evidence and calling it a day, but his DNA is all goddamn over this fucking psycho, and isn't _that_ just the punchline of the hour.

"When you arrest me," Dick says, _finally_ sliding those obnoxiously tight jeans back on, "Are you gonna pretend like you don't even know me?"

M doesn't say anything. Dick looks at him over his shoulder. "I'm just asking because it would really hurt my feelings, you know?"

"You don't _have_ feelings," M says.

"We had a dog once," Dick says. "Jackson. I liked him a lot."

"What'd you do, set him on fire?" M asks, and Dick looks genuinely offended.

"_No_," he says. "We gave him to Harley. She's home more, y'know, and she's got all those other animals."

M wants to ask about Harley, but she's not really part of his case. Dinah Lance's girls are being worked on by Cruz, who's doing an admittedly better job at _getting_ somewhere. Go figure.

"You should get a dog," Dick says, taking his time lacing up his boots.

"No," M says automatically, because Apollo used to ask all the fucking _time_.

("Just the _one_ dog," he'd say, and M would scowl and say that one always led to _two_, and then there'd be cats, and goldfish, and god forbid _children_.

"Wrong," Apollo said. "Fish freak me out.")

In retrospect, getting him the dog would've probably been better than -

Well.

"Come on," Dick says. "Like you wouldn't love a big old rottie or a shepard or -"

"Grayson," M says. Dick is fully dressed now, and he _needs_ to leave. M needs a shower, and a shave, and thirty minutes to shout wordlessly at himself for letting any of this happen.

"Oh my god, I know a guy who has a mastiff, you could _totally_ -"

M _shoves_ him toward the window, and Dick turns his head back and grins at him before swinging his legs around the ledge. 

*

There's a building burning half a block from M's apartment, and he knows without knowing why that Grayson is responsible.

At least it's an abandoned building. At least. M's been out of town for a week, some training seminar in DC, and he guesses he's lucky it isn't his house burning.

The firetrucks are already there, and across the street, among the other bystanders, stands Dick.

"Oh hi," Dick says when M walks up to him, like he's surprised to see him. His head is tilted up, and he turns back to admire the flames, eyes lit like Christmas lights. He smells like gasoline and ash, and M grabs his arm, hard.

"Tell me why I shouldn't arrest you right now," he says, and Dick twists out of his grip, kisses him quick on the cheek then darts five feet away into the crowd.

"Grayson," M says.

"_Ladybug, ladybug_," Grayson singsongs at him. "_Fly away home. Your house is on fire, your children are gone."_ He laughs as he swerves through the crowd, disappears down an alley and up a fire escape.

"My mom used to sing that to me," he says when M catches up to him. "Pretty terrible story, huh?"

"I can think of worse," M grunts. "Look," he starts.

"I saw Apollo while you were gone," Dick says, and M's stomach hurts.

"If you did anything to him -" But there would've been a call from the hospital, and he could be bluffing. Everyone knows he's a worse liar than a dirty cop.

"Look," M says, deciding not to take the bait for once. He sits down next to Dick. "I could take you in right now for at least a dozen charges. I'm giving you a chance to turn yourself in."

Dick swings his legs back and forth on the balcony. "What about my family?"

"Give them up," M says. "I'll ask them to go easy on you, if you give up Wayne and the others."

"And you think _I'm_ crazy," Dick says.

"Dick," M says. He doesn't realize he's pleading until he hears his voice, low and half-desperate. "We could protect you, if -"

"Oh," Dick says. He laughs. "I haven't been scared of dying since my first night on the trapeze."

"Then…"

"Why don't you quit?" Dick asks. "Give the case to someone else?"

"Because," M says. "I've been working this for years." What he means is, it has to be him. He has to be the one to get them all, to hold Wayne's face up to crime scene photos and say, _tell me this wasn't you._

* 

Apollo's in group therapy when M stops by after work. He waits outside the door, far enough away to give everyone some privacy, but close enough he can still feel Apollo there, somewhere.

They met years ago, long before the bureau assigned them to be partners. Apollo had hair longer than Jesus then, and the first thing M did when they started messing around was curl his fingers into it like he was scooping up pieces of gold.

"I don't do this," Apollo told him. "This casual bullshit, or any kind of hiding. I'll fuck you in any car you want, but you're either mine or you're not."

M stood between his legs, backed him into the kitchen counter at his apartment and said, "Well then. Shall we go steady?"

Apollo rolled his eyes, and M might have loved him right then, a little.

A few years after they caught the Wayne case, Apollo started cutting his hair, started staying up most of the night at his desk where M would find him in the morning, face down in papers, file folders, and sticky notes. M could look at a burnt corpse and hardly blink, but for Apollo, every new dead body was personal, no matter how terrible that person had been.

Of course M wanted to take them down. When Dent took the fall for Wayne, they both nearly lost their jobs. M moved on, worked harder, but Apollo -

M would wake up in the night to Apollo crying over nothing, over everything. He'd put something in the oven and turn the kitchen into a screaming, smoking mess when he forgot about it. He stopped laughing, or, when he did, it was all at the wrong thing.

The pills and the bureau shrink helped, at first. Until.

Today, he and Apollo sit in the cafeteria, and Apollo pokes at some kind of mushy potatoes on his plate. He's too skinny, and he looks exhausted, but he still manages a smile when he tells M about what he's working on in the art room.

"It's messy," Apollo says. "Like my head. But when I'm doing it, I - I kind of feel like _me_ again."

"That's great, baby," M says. "You got this. Whatever helps."

"What would help," Apollo says, stabbing a green bean, "Is if you could figure out a way to fuck the living hell out of me like you've been doing to Grayson."

"I -" M starts, losing all the breath in his lungs.

"I'm not mad," Apollo says. He reaches for M's hand. "I mean I'm jealous, but not - I just - I fucking _miss you._"

"Baby," M says. He shuts his eyes. "You have no idea."

Sometimes, he wonders if this case will drive him here, too. At least they'd be together again, he supposes. Maybe Dick could come visit both of them, if he didn't decide to burn the whole place down. Maybe they'll never catch these fucking assholes, and it'll be M's fault, because he -

"You got this," Apollo echoes.

It might be the first time Apollo's ever lied to him.


End file.
